“ED-U-CA-TION
FO LAV AND SE-VICE. GOOD MO-NING TEE-CHA ANNA.”
Every time I walk into the classroom to
teach I am greeted by my students this way. The dialogue continues:
“Good
morning students. How are you?”
“WE
ARE FINE, THANK YOU. AND HOW ABOUT YOUUU?”
“I
am fine thank you. You may be seated.”
Per
an offhand suggestion, when I arrived, that I could change my name to something
easier to say than “Allison” I decided to become Teacher Anna. Allie and Annie
are both boys names, so I thought Anna was close enough to Anne (my middle
name) that I would not be creating a whole new person, just adapting a little.
Allison, as my community mate (Alyson) has told me, easily becomes Harrison as
many Tanzanians, even in their own names change “l” to “r.” So I have become
Anna simply because it is much easier to say. Though it may contribute to the
impending identity crisis in the coming stages of culture shock, I am happy for
now to be Anna.
Maybe
I can tell you a little bit about my school. Gonzaga Primary School opened in
2007. One story goes like this: There was man in the neighborhood of Mabibo who
was bringing together a collection of children who weren’t in school and
teaching them. These children, for whatever reason, were not attending school.
The location of their makeshift school changed every day based on the
availability of space around the neighborhood. Often they would come together
in a bar that was vacant in the morning hours. A Jesuit father (I am assuming
he was living at the residence at Loyola) got wind of this man teaching these
children and was motivated to create a Jesuit primary school to provide an
opportunity for these children to have a traditional education.
Gonzaga
is an English medium school so all subjects, with the exception of Kiswahili,
are taught in English. The students are not allowed to speak Kiswahili at
school. Grades are called Standards and Gonzaga has Pre-Standard One up to
Standard Seven. There are fifteen teachers who teach an array of subjects and
standards. There are two streams, A and B, for each standard and the students
stay in the same class all day while the teachers rotate around. There are nine
forty minute periods with a break for tea and lunch and recess.
The
first five weeks were really challenging. I am not a teacher, nor am I trained
as a teacher, nor do I have any experience in the classroom, plus I don’t use
corporal punishment. All these things together made my first few weeks an
uphill battle. My students, as anyone would expect them to do, pushed all the
limits to see what they were going to be able to get away with. I can’t say I
did a very good job of managing them and still have a hard time keeping them
quiet long enough to teach a lesson. I would say my job is eighty percent
classroom management and twenty percent teaching, neither of which I am very
good at.
The
ultimate wreck of a week came three weeks ago when I was "teacher on duty". I and
another teacher were assigned to be in charge of keeping the school quiet and
in order, especially during those times when students are moving around. It was not a successful week, to say the least,
and I came home everyday feeling exhausted (more so than usual) physically and
emotionally. At the end of that week I felt that I needed to reevaluate my priorities
as I was approaching burnout fast (props to my community mate Alyson for naming
that and expressing her concern!).
Why am I here? I am filling a need as an
English teacher, yes, but is that what should determine a successful or
productive or life giving day? No. I am here to be in solidarity with those
people who I am serving. I am here to listen and to love. It is most important
that my kids know that I love them; That they are loved and cared about and
important.
Reorganizing
my priorities and adjusting my attitude started a corner around which going to
school has become much more bearable. I still struggle to keep my class quiet
for very long, but I am pretty sure they like me and they know I like them.
There is one student in particular who has caused me a lot of grief in class.
He is starved for attention and seeks it in all the wrong ways. This past
Friday I held him back from lunch to finish his homework (again) and when he
was finished I thanked him and wished him a good weekend. He said, “Well
teacher that will depend on you.” I asked him what he meant, how I could
contribute to his having a good weekend. He said, “If you come again to visit
me at my home it will be a good weekend.” I about started crying then and
there. This little nugget has given me so much trouble and tested my patience
to the breaking point, but he gave me a lot of joy in that moment. That is why
I am here.
